then the letting go
by sansone
Summary: "Gibbs is less of a bastard these days, and if she didn't know him well, Kate wouldn't be worried, but she does and so she is." Season 1-2. Kibbs friendship.


Gibbs is less of a bastard these days, and if she didn't know him well, Kate wouldn't be worried, but she does and so she is. Her workaholic boss doesn't let them go home early, even on a Friday. He doesn't offer to buy them lunch, doesn't ask if they want coffee _because he is going to that coffee shop anyway and it won't be a hassle. _He doesn't say hassle. He doesn't let Abby take her time; he is always bribing her with soda pop and kisses on the cheek and he is expecting work to get done, _fast. _ He doesn't let Ducky finish when he goes off on a tangent, but now Kate has to keep tabs on all the stories involving dead raccoons, Egyptians and venomous plants. It is not the norm and Kate is worried.

She talks to Tony and Tim, but they brush it off, coffee in hand and huge grins on their faces. She smacks them both when DiNozzo suggests it might be like that movie, _A Christmas Carol, _and Tim pipes up he's read the book. True, it's way past Christmas but grumpy old bosses can surely be visited by justice-serving ghosts, no matter the time of year. It's a free country. She shakes her head and goes back to her desk, where her own coffee - with milk and sweetener - awaits. _He remembered. _

Abby acts all stunned when Kate tells her about Gibbs being nice. _But he's _always_ nice, Kate. What do you mean he's not nice? _It is of no use trying to convince Abby otherwise, and besides, she is right. Gibbs is always nice to her because she is not like them, poor suckers. No, she is his favorite and damn good at her job, too. Not like them, struggling to finish their work on time and running solely on caffeine and adrenaline, determined not to get their asses whipped by a) criminals or b) their very own Jethro Gibbs.

* * *

><p>It caught him off guard this year. Usually, he knows when it's coming so he takes a couple of days off toward the end of February, to work on his boat, to take a breath, to cope. But their caseload has been so heavy this winter, he simply forgot (and he hates himself for that). It wasn't until the 28th that he realized what day it was, but when he did, it hit him full force; he couldn't hear what Tony was saying, couldn't answer McGee's questions. He'd be struggling to catch his breath and then he'd hold Kate's gaze, see the question in her eyes, and he'd smile, not wanting to let the panic overwhelm him, even when he felt like it would. Because they were irretrievably gone, never coming back, never coming home. And that, <em>that <em>was not something he could ever get used to.

He can barely pay attention at work the past few days. He is always finding excuses to go out and get a bit of fresh air, of crisp, merciless assurance he is still alive even when they are not. He buys his team coffee, and tries to ignore the looks of utter shock on their faces. He's not a monster and they are all better people for his bastardly ways, but he finds himself incapable of scolding, head-slapping or thumping any one of them. He goes on long walks with Duck and revels in the white noise of stories retold, stories which block out his thoughts and that's all he can hope for.

Still, when he goes home from work, he looks at old pictures. It helps him remember, rebuild what once was. And it was good, so good it hurts thinking about it, the times they've lost, and will never have. It is not fair and he holds on to these photos as though examining each one closely will give him insight to what happened, to how he got here – alone with nothing to lose because he has already lost too much.

* * *

><p>She bumps into him and he apologizes. Kate knows this is a sign of trouble as well as anyone who has at one point or another worked under Gibbs and his lengthy list of rules. She looks up and can't decide if he's been crying or if he is about to. It's not okay to see him like this; it's not canonical, doesn't align with her image of him and to put it simply, doesn't make a fucking ounce of sense.<p>

"Everything okay?" Kate hears herself ask, her chest constricting at the sight of Gibbs biting his lip, and trying his hardest to avoid her stare.

He shakes his head, and Kate is simply stunned when the man whom she has come to respect and look up to, her mentor, her friend, crumbles before her eyes. There is no gravity left in his world, nothing to hold him together, and so he breaks, a ceramic statue, axed at the knees, and all she can do is pick up the pieces. How they end up on the floor, with her whispering pointless _okay_'s and soft _I got you_'s she doesn't know, but what she does know is that to the man who has wrapped his arms around her middle, whose tears scorch her skin, she is the one anchor in a sea of pain no one was aware existed.

His whole body is shaking, and she tightens her hold around him, as though keeping him close, _closer, _will fix whatever is broken inside (as though it bears fixing). He forgets to breathe, and Kate has to remind him, her lips on his temple, whispering, pleading with him, to listen to her and to _breathe, come on, Gibbs, take a deep breath. _She presses a murmur of a kiss to his forehead, runs a soothing hand down his back, but he is still hurting, still fighting his demons, and her comfort is nothing but a bland attempt to stir the wheel before the boat goes under. Kate is horrified when she hears a low keening noise, coming from him, makes it out to be a mantra – _no, no, no – _he brands onto her skin, face buried in the crook of her neck. "It'll be okay, Gibbs," she says, choked up, because whatever has got him so rattled is enough to make her heart clench, head spin, and eyes fill with tears she is reluctant to shed; she doesn't get to fall apart.

* * *

><p>His head is resting on Kate Todd's shoulder, and he is eerily calm. She is whispering something in his ear – <em>still <em>– and he closes his eyes, lulled to normalcy by her voice, her scent, her everything. He wonders if she'll turn in her resignation tomorrow, and leave, if he'll find her badge on his desk tomorrow and she'll be gone. Gibbs doesn't want her gone, and this wasn't supposed to happen, _he _wasn't supposed to –

He pulls back and dares to look at her, expecting to see anything from pity to anger in her eyes; he doesn't expect to see this. Kate's crying, has been for a while it seems, but she is quick to reassure him she's _fine, really, _she is, and he swallows hard, nodding. He reaches up, the pad of his thumb not soft enough against her skin, he's sure, but he wipes at her tears, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're a mess, Katie," he says, and she gives him a smile, even when she should be kicking his ass, he reckons.

"Need a mirror, Gunny?" she asks, her voice soft, her gaze even softer, and when she reaches out to him, her hand cradling his cheek, he leans into her touch, eyes closing. She is kind and she doesn't have to be. He feels her lips against his forehead, feels her thumb, smoothing over the skin under his eye; the contact is ghostlike, barely even there, as though she's afraid she'll hurt him. The quiet is unnerving and he knows she'll ask, he knows it, but he finds he's not prepared when she finally does, when her fingers brush against his cheek, and she takes his hand.

"What's wrong, Gibbs?"

* * *

><p>He talks and she listens, hears his pain in the moments of silence. She wipes at the tears that are reckless and falling down her face. She had to ask. She <em>had <em>to. He had a wife, a daughter – a family. Kate wonders at his strength, his quiet confidence in her. It doesn't seem like he's told anyone. Not Abby, not Duck, only her, Kate – and it's scaring her shitless because he is letting her in, and nothing she does can be enough, nothing she says can –

_no, _his heart is pulled together by thread and knots, enclosed in patchwork, and she has to tread lightly if she doesn't want to tear at the stitches.

All she can do is listen, _still_, listen _more, _because she may not be a comforter, but she is a listener, and a damn good one at that; she pushes when a pause stretches for too long, prompts him with questions and helps him finish what he can hardly give a voice to. _She was 8 years old. Her name was Kelly. If I had been home at the time – _

She wants to shut him up, kiss his mouth, and swallow all the guilt that is tearing him apart. But she can't, won't – even if she wants to, badly – and she pulls him into her arms instead, hoping that a bone-crushing hug would convince him he is wrong, wrong, _wrong._ It's different than before. It's not circumstance that brings him in her arms – it's intentional and she is the instigator. Kate half-expects him to tense up and push her away, but he doesn't and so she tightens the hold around his shoulders, traces patterns down his back. Feels him shiver.

She doesn't dare ask what happened to Hernandez, how he ended up dead, only agrees with him, _he deserved it._

He pulls back and she shakes her head, _don't, _when an apology – or what appears to be one – struggles to escape him. He looks ashamed, and she bites her lip not to say something dumb, like, _it's okay, babe, _or _chin up, kid. _Because when he looks at her, he is a lost boy, with a weight on his shoulders too heavy to handle. She doesn't think any less of him, _sure, _but he doesn't know that, and she makes sure he hears her when she squeezes his hand and kisses his cheek. "I'm here for you, Gibbs."

* * *

><p><em>Wow. <em>His breath catches in his throat, and he quickly removes the fingers that seem to be glued to the spot where she kissed him. By the grin on her face, he figures he's been a tad too late; she's seen him, but she's not making a joke about it, _no. _She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, small, soothing circles, _reassuring. _

He lets out a shaky sigh and hopes that she's a mind reader. He doesn't have a way with words, so when he speaks up, he is sure to hold her gaze, make her _see _it, too, just in case. "Thank you, Kate. Really – I really appreciate it –"

Her smile lights up her face; there may be wonder – _shock _– in her eyes, but she holds his hand more tightly, whispers, "Always, Gibbs." Before he knows it, though, she is letting go of his hand and getting up to leave. "I – I have to go. I'm sorry – you gonna be okay?"

He nods, pulling his knees to his chest. "Go home, Katie. I'll see you tomorrow."

She waves a hasty goodbye, then saunters off down the hall. She turns back a few times to look at him, give him a smile. Before she rounds the corner, she grins at him, presses her hand to her lips and signs what looks like _I love you. _Gibbs shakes his head, can't help the grin that splits his face. He may have loved and lost, but he is not alone. He might be okay, after all.


End file.
